Memoirs of a Hoyden (12 page)

‘No, it was climbing out the window tonight that did the mischief.’’

Kestrel turned his head slowly and stared at me as though I were a tiger. “Do you mean to tell me you clambered out the upstairs window? You might have fallen and killed yourself.’’

“I might have, but I didn’t. I was fine till Sir Herbert koshed me with something. I wonder what he used.”

I got to my feet, and when the room stopped spinning, I looked around for the weapon. Lying near the door was a riding crop. Kestrel picked it up and we looked at it by the light of the one candle, now residing on the table. It was a dainty affair, slender, with ornamental brass rings embedded in the handle. You could tell to look at it that Sir Herbert wouldn’t be caught dead in a ditch with such an elegant trifle.

“It must be Nel’s,” Kestrel said, frowning.

“Her father probably picked it up in the hall on his way in to kosh me,” I said airily.

“Whoever was here didn’t know you would come. He was here waiting for someone or something else.”

“Perhaps Nel left it lying about. It’s not important. These other ideas of yours, Kestrel—”

“My foremost idea is to lock you into your room. And nail the window shut,” he added grimly.

With this little clue that he didn’t mean to take me into his confidence, I wasted no more time in argument. I just held my head as though I could barely stand the pain, and went upstairs, hoping to give the impression I was on my way to bed. Kestrel wore an extremely suspicious look as I walked past him. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.

“At the risk of boring you, Lord Kestrel, I have suffered worse torment in other lands and survived.”

On this piece of noble hogwash, I left the room and darted upstairs to discuss developments with Ronald. Imagine my shock to find Miss Longville sitting on his chair, weeping buckets into his handkerchief. She was wearing a rather chic blue riding habit and chapeau cocked over one eye. From the condition of Ronald’s handkerchief, a monogrammed one I had stitched with my own fingers, I estimated she had been watering it for longer than a few minutes.

I hardly knew what to say. “What on earth is the matter, Miss Longville?” I asked.

She put the wet linen to her nose and bawled louder. Ronald gave a grimace that indicated she might notice I had changed my gown. I didn’t see much danger of Miss Longville having an attack of common sense when she was so distraught, nor did she. I went to sit by Ronald on the side of his bed.

“Nel was going to run away,” he explained. “I heard footsteps and opened my door just as she was about to go downstairs. I convinced her to come in here and discuss the matter with me.”

“She shouldn’t be here alone with you.”

“You’re here!” he pointed out.

“I wasn’t when she arrived.”

Ronald batted it aside. “It’s the most incredible thing you can imagine, Marion. Her papa is forcing her to marry Alfred Harcourt. She doesn’t care for him in the least.”

“The foolish man,” I tsked. The name Bernard Kemp was in my mind, and I decided to test it. “But where did you think to go, Miss Longville? Do you have someone who would take you in?”

She lifted her tearstained eyes long enough to hiccough and nod an affirmative. “A relative?” I asked slyly. She shook her head no.

“It’s another man,” Ronald informed me. “A Mr. Kemp. Nel thinks she’s in love with him.”

“And are you quite certain Mr. Kemp loves you, Nel?” I asked gently. As Ronald was Nel’ing her, I decided to make free of her name as well. The unusual circumstances warranted it. It was all the style that night. Kestrel had called me Marion. I wondered what his Christian name was. The blue riding bonnet nodded vigorously.

“Mr. Kemp is well to do, is he?” I asked, shaking my head to Ronald to indicate it was not the case. The blue bonnet remained still, save for a little jiggle as she hiccoughed again into Ronald’s linen. “I would want to make very sure he wasn’t just marrying me for my money, before I threw my reputation to the wind by a runaway match,” I added.

Two watery eyes were raised to Ronald in supplication. And he, the gudgeon, smiled his encouragement at her. “Nel assures me the attachment is long-standing,” he explained.

“But is he attached to the money, or the lady?” I repeated. “Does Mr. Kemp have a fortune of his own? Or is he the sort of wastrel who ran through his fortune, and is now looking about for some guileless peahead to hand hers over to him?”

“He made some poor investments,” Ronald said leniently.

“Is that French for saying he’s a pauper?”

Nel managed to get her mouth open and answer for herself. “I have twenty-five thousand from Mama. It is my own money, and Papa can’t stop me from having it when I am married.”

“No, nitwit, but he can withhold his own fortune,” I said frankly. “Longville Manor is worth five or ten times that. Do you mean to throw it all away for some devil-may-care lad who hasn’t enough respect for you to settle down and earn his living, if he has no money?”

“Bernard isn’t a pauper!” she said proudly. “He has a fine curricle and the best jackets in the county. He is learning the shipping business.”

“Then let him learn it, and earn a proper home to take you to before he marries you. Where did you and Bernard plan to live?”

She moved her shoulders uncomfortably. It was clear as glass she hadn’t given the mere detail of a roof over her head any consideration whatsoever. “I must go,” she said, and began gathering up reticule and gloves.

As she wore her riding habit, it occurred to me she might have been carrying a riding crop. But Ronald had encountered her at the top of the stairs, so she couldn’t be my assailant. “Is Mr. Kemp waiting for you somewhere?” I asked. A crafty look settled on her plump, rather childish features.

She turned, ignoring me, to speak to Ronald. “Thank you, Mr. Kidd. I know you want to help me, but I must do this. I will not be forced into marrying Alfred Harcourt. I can’t stand the man.”

“I wish you would reconsider, Nel,” Ronald implored.

“I’ve thought and argued and begged Papa, but he says I must marry Alfred, before he changes his mind and has Miss Stokely. I have no choice. Surely you can see that.”

“Let me speak to your father, Nel,” I said. “When he learns how desperate you are, I believe he’ll reconsider.”

“Marion’s very good at persuading people to do what they don’t want to do,” Ronald told her.

She cast an assessing look at me and took her decision. “Very well, I’ll wait till tomorrow, but I won’t marry Alfred Harcourt.”

“That’s a wise decision,” I said, and smiled in relief. “Now go back to your bed, Miss Longville, and try not to worry. I promise you one thing: If your papa insists on your marrying Mr. Harcourt, you can come to stay with me in London till he changes his mind.”

She looked her thanks—to Ronald! Really, the girl had no social graces. I didn’t in the least relish having her around my neck, but on the other hand, I do not go along with parents forcing their children into unwanted matches. I would always be ready to take a stand on that matter. “Would you like Ronald to go and tell Mr. Kemp what happened? Is he waiting somewhere nearby for you?” I asked.

“Oh no. I was going to go to his house,” the idiot replied. I began to think I had done Mr. Kemp a favor as well in ridding him of this peagoose.

Ronald took her to the door and watched while she slipped into her room. “That was very kind of you, Marion, offering Nel a refuge,” he said.

“I hope to God it doesn’t come to that, but if it does, I won’t renege on the offer. I don’t suppose you’ve had much opportunity to keep watch on the window?”

“No, but nothing happened while I was watching. I say, Marion, is that a lump on your forehead? What happened—did you fall off the vine?”

“No, Sir Herbert knocked me out,” I said, and recounted my adventure. “Get dressed at once, Ronald. I hope we haven’t lost track of Kestrel. He’s convinced that scoundrel of a Sir Herbert is innocent, just because they’re in the sheep-raising business together. I’m convinced it was Longville who knocked me out. Who else could it be?”

“Of course it was. A man who’d force his daughter into a bad marriage obviously has no scruples. But never mind Kestrel, it’s Sir Herbert we must watch.”

“Kestrel said he had some other ideas as well. Longville might have some of his servants in on it with him. I daresay that’s what he meant. While you dress, I’ll creep along the hall and see if I catch Herbert leaving his room. Not that I think for one minute he is
in
it.”

I didn’t know which room was Sir Herbert’s, but it would be one of those with a closed door. Nel’s was closed, my own, and a few others along the hallway. I tiptoed past them, and from one I heard the unmistakable sounds of a man snoring. Ronald and Kestrel were the only other two gentlemen in the house, and I knew neither of them were sawing logs. I felt a sinking sensation that Sir Herbert had already completed his night’s dirty work while I was otherwise occupied. Such was his villainy that he could place his head on a pillow and sleep like an honest man, after betraying his country to Napoleon, and his daughter to Alfred Harcourt. Hanging was too good for him.

When Ronald came out, I told him about the snoring. He was more interested in Nel. He looked lovingly at her closed doorway. There were no snores from that direction. “I hope she meant it when she said she’d wait till morning,” he worried.

“What on earth do you see in that child?” I asked, for it was clear as a pikestaff Ronald had a tendre for her.

“Why, she’s so pretty!” he answered.

“A provincial squab, pretty? A watering pot with neither sense nor judgement nor pride, to be running to a man in the middle of the night, begging him to run away with her? You’ve lost the use of your wits, Mr. Kidd.”

“But she’s so helpless, Marion. Not like you, able to handle anything. A man feels the urge to help a lady like that.”

I remembered Kestrel’s kindness to me downstairs when I had been attacked. A lady in distress had momentarily softened the heart of even that wretched man. If a lady had any taste for marriage, she would be wise to feign incompetence, or hire some cruel stepfather to force her into an unwanted marriage.

“Do you happen to know Kestrel’s Christian name?” I asked.

“I’ve no idea. Why do you want to know that?”

“Just curious.”

Chapter Eight

We slipped quietly downstairs into the dark hallway. Ronald wanted to see where I’d been attacked. I took him to the room, we closed the door, lit a candle, and looked around for clues.

“Obviously this is where Sir Herbert received the message from the spy,” I explained. “The door leading outside was left off the latch. I believe the letter had already been passed over to him, and he delivered it to whomever he reports to after knocking me out, then went up to bed.”

“Then you’re saying the whole thing is a fait accompli,” Ronald pointed out. “You didn’t see the man with the letter enter by the French doors, or come out again while you were lurking there?”

“No, not while I was watching.”

“Why would Sir Herbert have hung about in the dark room after he got what he was after? It would be more logical for him to turn it over to his contact at once.” Ronald has a way of using jargon that would make you think he’d been an expert forever at whatever new matter we’re involved in. That “contact,” which Kestrel had used only once, came out as smooth as cream.

“The other possibility is that he hadn’t received it yet,” I pointed out. “He thought I was the spy, and when he realized I wasn’t, he knocked me out.”

“And went upstairs to sleep without receiving the letter?” Ronald asked, with a face that said he expected better of me.

“If he wasn’t waiting for the letter, then why was he here?”

“There’s no proof he was here. You don’t know it was Sir Herbert.”

“As Kestrel explained, the leak begins at the F.O.,” I said, and peered to see if Ronald recognized the initials. He nodded his comprehension. “There are no other F.O. employees living near here. This is where the spies were bringing the letter, according to Kestrel.”

Ronald lifted a doubtful brow. “I thought Kestrel believed Sir Herbert innocent.”

“He doesn’t like to admit otherwise, but he acknowledges there’s no one else it could be. At least that’s what he said.”

“Yes, what Kestrel
said.
And according to you, Kestrel only came to your assistance after you’d been knocked senseless. Who’s to say he isn’t the one who hit you? What I’m getting at is that Kestrel lives nearby, and
he
works at the F.O. We only know what he chooses to tell us, Marion, and at times it sounded like a bag of moonshine. We both noticed he didn’t put up any fight when he was robbed. It almost seemed he wanted to give over that letter.’’

“He explained all that. He did want to give it over, so he could follow the spies and find the ringleader. If you’re implying that he is the leak, Ronald, you’re sadly off the mark. Why would he bother chasing after those spies if all he wanted was to give secrets to Boney?”

“Perhaps because you questioned him about his peculiar behavior—the way he left his pistol in the curricle, and drove the coach instead of being ready to defend himself. He needed some explanation when you chided him, and that’s when he came up with the story of trying to catch the ringleader. I found that tale of the cut wheel pin in London pretty fishy myself. I believe he had it done so he could transfer to the coach. The timing of it was very convenient.”

“Why would he want to transfer to the coach?”

“So he’d have witnesses that he was robbed, and didn’t just hand over the orders. That way they’ll believe him innocent in London, and give him other documents to deliver. When you insisted on helping him— do you remember how he fought it?”

“The only reason we’re here is because he thought I had money,” I nodded.

“He had to go through with the farce of letting on he was following spies because we stuck to him like burrs all day. We never caught a sight of any spies.”

“No, but we found Cooke’s Bible, and the merchant’s trinkets. And the farmer who let us jump his fence saw them.
He said there
were
three men headed this way.”